


Romantic Notions

by danpuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Porn, Crying, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry Potter, Guilt, Herbology Professor Neville Longbottom, Hogwarts, Humiliation kink, Light Masochism, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Plant Porn, Transfiguration Professor Draco Malfoy, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Lust, Weirdness, idk what you want me to say, it's plant porn, plot to excuse my shameless plant porn, with some plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28032486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danpuff/pseuds/danpuff
Summary: Neville has feelings for Severus and no hope of reciprocation. At least he has his plants for company.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy (minor), Neville Longbottom/Flitterbloom, Neville Longbottom/Plants, Neville Longbottom/Severus Snape (unrequited), Neville Longbottom/Venomous Tentacula
Comments: 27
Kudos: 62





	Romantic Notions

**Author's Note:**

> Plants mentioned: Frillblooms are borrowed from the Stormlight Archive series, by Brandon Sanderson (I really like them, okay?). Moonberries I came up with. Everything else is either real or existing in the HP-verse.

It is late when Neville returns to his quarters. His first order of business is to put his fresh-picked moly in water. He takes his time fussing with them, particular about the water temperature and the nutrients he adds. Neville twirls the black stems between his fingers, watches the sway of white petals.

The clear vase is set on his bedside table. Neville starts for the bathroom but pauses, glances nervously back at the innocent moly. Pink blooms in his cheeks as he steps back to the center of the room to strip. It is clumsy work, no art to his seduction. Sweaty, soil-stained robes fall to the floor, followed by socks and pants. Neville gulps, hands fly to his exposed penis. He is flaccid.

The moly can’t be smirking at him. They don’t have faces, for one, and they’re certainly not sentient enough to be amused by him. It does not stop Neville feeling as though he’s being smirked at and he shivers. His prick grows half hard in his hands by the time he stumbles into the bathroom.

 _Aeaean moly_ , not to be confused with _allium moly_ , blooms in winter; counteracts enchantments when ingested; best fertilized with dragon dung mixed with a bit of fairy dust; notable for its thick black stems and long white petals. Neville nervously goes over what he knows about moly as he steps into his shower. It isn’t much. Though magical, they are fairly easy to grow and are only known for their one use outside of potions.

Knowing it is a bad idea, Neville nevertheless goes over what potions use moly. He scrubs the dirt from his body and lists Befuddlement Draught, Dragon Tonic, and Girding Potion. Lathers his hair. Restoration Potion. Vitamix Potion. Oh, he’s forgetting a few, he knows he is. His heart picks up pace and his stomach ties itself in knots. It’s like Potions all over again, and Professor Snape - no, Severus now, they’re colleagues, they’ve been colleagues for three years - is going to deduct points and make some snide remark about his inadequacy.

His cock is hard and heavy between his legs. Neville squeezes his eyes shut and whimpers. Thinks of those long, pale fingers gleefully falling into a temple over which gleaming black eyes judge him.

Neville is not sure he washed all of the shampoo out of his hair, and he only gives his body a cursory pat down with the towel. He shuffles back into his bedroom, clutching the towel as a shield for his modesty. He nearly trips over it as it drags on the floor between his legs. Neville can’t quite meet the moly’s eyes - well, they don’t have eyes, but Neville feels the weight of their attention anyway as he flops onto the bed.

For a time he lays there, eyes closed, towel draped across his waist, too aware of the moly within arm’s reach. He thinks of the moly, of all mentions in Herbology and Potions texts. This time when he mentally reviews what he knows, it is Severus’s voice purring in his ears. His black robes sweep around him as he walks, brushing through the tall grass, moonlight soft and kind upon his harsh features. He lectures Neville as Neville plucks the blossoms. Neville whimpers as Fantasy Severus kneels beside him, cool fingers wrapping around his warm ones, showing him how to properly tug them free from the earth.

“Oh god. Oh god.” Neville opens his eyes. Stares up at the ceiling. Horror and shame wash through him, hot and cold and twisty. A trembling hand rubs across his face. Presses into his closed lids. Disrupts the image.

Then, because he is every bit as pathetic as Severus has accused him of being, he blindly fumbles for the vase. The vase knocks onto its side, but he manages to catch one of the flowers. Neville twirls the wet stem in his fingers again. Then he closes his eyes. Throws his towel aside. Welcomes back the interrupted scene. Silvery moonlight illuminating Severus’s hands - long, white fingers stroking the long, white petals. The eyes are black, but alight with malice and arousal as he leans in to whisper into his ear, “ _Counteracts enchantments, Longbottom. Perhaps you should take a bite. Break this…_ ** _spell_** _…I’ve put on you. You think it’s a spell, don’t you? You think it wrong to want me as you do. It must be my fault, mustn’t it? Prove it, then. Eat it._ ”

“Oh,” Neville whispers and traces the petals across his lips the way Fantasy Severus does. He flicks out his tongue for a taste and though a soft petal lands on his tongue, he imagines it is Severus’s lips. Severus pulling the flower away to press his mouth there instead.

Neville is so hard he can barely stand it.

He whimpers quietly, traces the flower down his jaw and neck as his fantasy plays out. As Severus quickly disrobes him. He lays Neville’s soft, round body into the tickling grass. Neville trails the flower across his collarbone. Then from nipple to nipple. Presses the stem against the hardened nubs to mimic the flick of a nail. Stem for nails. Petals for fingertips. Neville drags the flower down his ribs, swirls around his navel. Teases past his full cock and down his thighs instead. Flower following the path Fantasy Severus lays.

“Oh god,” Neville whispers. Clamps his hand down over his mouth. As if the other moly will hear. As if they’ll judge him. As if they’ll tell. Imagines the flowers whispering to Severus. The scene flashes from the moonlit meadow to Severus’s mocking laughter at the moly’s gossip.

“ _You must think low of me to even hope that I would stoop low enough to desire you,_ ” that Severus says.

“ _Look at you. How wanton you are for me, Longbottom. Do your friends know how desperate you are? How you ache for me?_ ” teases the other Severus.

Neville moves the petals across his aching prick. He bites hard into his lip to stifle the sounds. His free hand clutches hard at his pillow, hard enough that his fingers ache with it. His heels dig into the mattress. Close, Merlin he’s so close. He spits into the hand holding the moly, wraps hand and flower around his cock and strokes. One, two - is all it takes and he’s spilling into his hand with Severus’s chuckle in his head, shooting dark and hot down his spine.

* * *

On Saturday morning, Severus pauses to examine a pot of the moly upon entering Greenhouse 2. Neville freezes at his flitterbloom until one tentacle reaches out to bop his nose. Neville smiles through his nerves and gives the flitterbloom a pet. “Good morning, Severus.”

“ _Neville_ ,” Severus greets. He has a certain tone he uses with the newer, younger staff members. While Harry and Draco are still in their first year of teaching, Defense and Transfiguration respectively, Neville is on his third year and thinks they should be well past this stage. Not that he precisely minds the condescending tone with which Severus says his name. At least Severus uses his given name at all, whatever tone he says it with. “Do you plan on wasting time with flitterbloom today?”

“N-n-not w- _waste_ ,” Neville argues. The flitterblooms tentacles all fold over to mimic the hands-on-hip stance Neville takes. The flitterbloom somehow manages it better. “All research is b-beneficial, r-remem-remember?"

“Do you stammer this much in front of your classes?” Severus inquires.

“No,” Neville says firmly. Only sometimes, and only with some of the crueler sixth and seventh years, and even then not nearly this bad.

“Hmm,” says Severus. He examines the bat orchids now. Their black petals flap irritably at him. Neville bites back a giggle as Severus prods them. Though Severus will never admit it, Neville thinks Severus likes flowers. He always shows interest in them, though they are less exciting than most of the other plants Neville keeps. Since Severus will never admit this, Neville feels no need to admit that he’s been planting more flowers since they began spending Saturdays together.

Severus does not linger long. Soon he joins Neville at the frillbloom they’ve been tending. The plant is easily startled, and the orange leaves curl in on themselves when the wizards approach. Soon the leaves relax (though they do clamp down around Severus’s hand when he pokes them too hard), and Neville chats to the plant (socialization is good for all flora, whatever snarky comments Severus makes) while Severus takes his notes and makes recommendations (rather he barks orders, but Neville likes to be optimistic.)

After, Severus checks on the mandrakes (no experimentation, not yet, but a definite plan for future study) and the puffapods (their most recent success was getting it to produce more than just pink and purple flowers. A yellow flower blooms when the seedpod bounces into Severus’s palm. He tucks it into his pocket when he thinks Neville isn’t looking.) Neville busies himself watering and praising his flutterby bush as Severus checks the quality of the fertilizer (“You finally splurged on the Herbridean Black, I see. I did tell you it would make a difference.”)

It's so nice spending time with Severus, and Neville never quite wants the visits to end. This may be why, when he sees Severus heading out the door, his gut says _no_ a half second before his mouth blurts out, “What do you think of Venomous Tentacula?” 

“The leaves are very useful,” Severus remarks dryly. “As we’ve discussed, any potion-induced changes will render plants useless in potions. Venomous Tentacula is too valuable to be toyed with.”

“One Tentacula for research purposes?” Neville asks. “And I don’t mean aiding it with potions. I mean - Well, that is - I j-just.” Beneath Severus’s impatient scowl all of Neville’s ease abandons him. “J-just, what if - tame them! I want to t-tame one! For - well, for the owner. If there’s a way to - to see if - if they can be - tamed for - for pr-protection. So they w-won’t attack the - er - person.”

Severus’s mouth twitches in what might be the ghost of a smile. Neville feels faint. “You want an attack plant?”

“J-j-just c-curious,” Neville replies.

“Hmm. We shall see.”

* * *

Neville brings a moly and an orchid home with him that night. He strips down and lays in bed with them. The same blossoms Severus touched.

* * *

In Neville’s time at Hogwarts, Severus has never been one to socialize with colleagues more than necessary. It’s part of what makes their Saturdays so special. He does not join Friday night drinks with Harry, Neville, Draco, Hagrid, and Filius. He does not stay for post-term staff parties. So it is surprising when Harry drags him to the staff Christmas party.

Were the two not bickering heatedly, Neville might have been jealous. But while Severus has become less hostile to Neville over the years, the animosity between him and Harry has only grown. Neville has no idea how Harry got Severus here, unless Severus followed him only to finish their argument. Neville is grateful, in any case.

Neville nervously drifts nearer the dour-faced man when Harry storms off for a drink. “Gl-glad you could make it, S-Severus,” he says sincerely.

“Hmph,” Severus replies.

"Gingerbread?"

"...yes, thank you."

* * *

On the whole, older staff members know their limits. So while Hagrid and Trelawney are a bit tipsy, they can at least still walk straight. Neville, Harry, and Draco are all dreadfully drunk. Minerva frowns at them disapprovingly and shakes her head. Severus sighs heavily and volunteers to "oversee the children" and escorts the three to their respective quarters.

Harry sings carols loudly and off-key with his arms wrapped around Draco and Neville’s shoulders. As Harry is several inches shorter than them both, it is an awkward angle, and more awkward still for the way they stumble around. At various times Severus grabs someone’s arm or neck and drags their human-chain back into line.

Draco’s rooms are the first they come across. Severus disentangles Draco from Harry. Draco sticks his tongue out at the Gryffindors, then latches onto Severus. Draco squints up at him as Severus glares over his head, and Neville narrows his own eyes at the blond. Harry just snickers. Draco whispers very seriously, “Never trust Gryffindors, Severus.”

“That will not be a concern, Draco.”

“Good. They sing badly,” Draco says. He giggles as Severus barks out the password and shoves him into his rooms. Neville frowns and wonders how (and why) Severus knows Draco’s password. Neville continues frowning at the door until Harry gives his arm a tug. The motion causes the pair to lose balance, and it takes a firm grip on each of them to keep them upright. Had he been this rough with Draco, Neville wonders? Pretty blond Draco with his long legs and pert arse. Of course Severus would want Draco's password. Who would want Neville's password when they could have Draco's instead?

“Draco’s a hot Slytherin,” Neville slurs morosely.

Harry giggles. “Slytherins are _all_ sexy. Right, Severus?” He flaps his arm around Severus, but can’t reach his shoulders the way he could with Neville and Draco. He settles for looping his arm through Severus’s and laying his head against him, which Neville is stupidly jealous of, even though Severus glares down at him.

When they make it to Harry’s rooms, Severus pries Harry from his person and from Neville’s and thrusts him towards the door. Harry giggles again and sings out, “Jingle bells!” And the door pops open.

“Very wise, Potter,” Severus snarls. “Let the whole castle know how to sneak into your rooms.”

Harry only laughs when Severus shoves him through the door. Severus grumbles about idiots and his amazement that so many Gryffindors survived the war. To Neville, this sounds like he cares, which makes him feel warm and bubbly. He decides to stumble around more than necessary until Severus sighs and reaches out to steady him. Neville knew he would - because Severus _cares,_ even if he is cranky about it. 

Severus is quite tall, Neville thinks. And Harry’s quite brave, because Neville wants to loop his arm through Severus’s, too, but can't. Just his hand on Neville’s arm is nice - imagine if it was more of him! Neville wants to fall against him and breathe him in. Wants to rub against him the way he rubs against his flowers. And he’s so _close_.

Just as Neville’s gathering his strength to lean closer, Severus jerks them to a halt. “Password,” he demands. When Neville is confused, Severus gives him a shake. “Your rooms, Neville. Password.”

“Oh, uh, mistletoe,” Neville says.

“Of course,” Severus mutters.

Mistletoe! Neville thinks. His head is a jumble, and one moment he’s sure and ready, but when he leans in he panics and his mouth bumps against Severus’s cheek rather than his lips. It’s too quick for Neville to really enjoy, to really feel Severus’s skin against his. Severus stiffens against him and barks out, “Longbottom!”

 _Oh no_ , Neville thinks, and kisses his mouth next. The logic is _he can’t yell if I cover his mouth_ , though it occurs to him almost immediately that this will, in fact, make matters worse.

“In,” Severus growls and shoves him backwards into his rooms.

Neville hits the floor as Severus stalks off. He’s too dizzy to get up, so he lays there. Lays there and thinks _I kissed Severus!_ and also _Severus is going to murder me_ and a bit of _I should have had more rum_. When he remembers how to move his body, he kicks the door closed and summons a blanket and pillow. Or tries to. He hears them thump against a wall and land out of reach. Neville flops out an arm. Thinks about rolling over and crawling, but soon resigns himself to a cold night on the hard floor. 

_Hope he's not warming Draco's bed_ , is his last, pitiful thought. 

* * *

Severus says nothing about drunkenness or kisses on Saturday. They focus on the Venomous Tentacula, a project Severus is more intense about than any of the others. The others were small, dipping their toes in the water of Herbology experimentation. This is more. This is a challenge. 

There is a mad gleam in Severus’s eyes as he flips through books and his quill flies across parchment. His tone is rough and commanding as he spouts his ideas aloud, demands Neville's input. All of his focus is on spilling his thoughts across the page, on examining seedlings and full grown specimen, on sitting and mulling over their project. It’s a little (okay, _very_ ) scary, this intensity, but it’s also sexy. And Neville is excited because Severus is invested in what they do together. Neville can give him this, a chance to study and explore. And Neville can experience it with him.

“Do you have anything to contribute, _Neville_?” Severus demands. The tone is meant to be harsh, Neville thinks, but his smugness and satisfaction soften the delivery.

Neville can only smile at him. “I think you’ve got it covered, Severus.” He wants to say more - maybe _“you’re a genius”_ or something like that. Something complimentary. Something that will tell him how highly Neville thinks of him. But Neville is too shy.

Severus gives him a considering look.

* * *

That night, alone in Greenhouse 2, Neville experiments with the flitterbloom. It is not an experiment Severus would approve of. Neville coaxes the flitterbloom’s tentacles to hold him. They rub his nipples, cup his bollocks, stroke his cock, and - after some work - push into his arsehole. It's a bit of a stretch, the tentacle wider than two fingers and more flexible. It wiggles excitedly inside of him, causing him to shriek in pleasured surprise. 

This is much different than having off with flowers. Even now the moly glares at him reproachfully. It is great in the moment - even with the awkward movements, the flitterbloom can touch him everywhere he likes, all at once. It is better than anything he's ever managed on his own. After, though - once he's spilled himself in its soil - he can only think of how dirty it feels. He’s been talking to this plant for months now. He tended it and watched it grow from a seedling. And now he’s violated it.

Neville lays slumped on the floor and can't quite look at the flitterbloom when he says, "S-s-sorry, buddy."

* * *

This does not stop him doing it again after his next Saturday with Severus. This time he hands the flitterbloom a black rose, which it wields with enthusiasm, brushing the petals across Neville’s bare skin. All the while Neville remembers this morning - remembers Severus admiring the rose. Remembers Severus touching the flitterbloom. Severus’s hands on Neville’s plants. Neville’s plants transferring that touch to Neville. Neville’s imagination calling forth the image of Severus touching _him_.

“Severus,” he groans when he comes.

* * *

This turns out to be a mistake once classes resume after the holidays. It makes him sick to look at the cherubic faces of first years who _ooh_ and _ahh_ over flora he’s defiled. He’s a pervert. A freak. A despicable man.

Because he doesn’t stop.

He moves his nighttime activities to Greenhouse 7, where he teaches fewer classes. His NEWT students, at least, are older teenagers. They’re driven by hormones. Some of them are probably experimenting sexually right now.

Though probably none of them have shut up a screechsnap by sticking their cocks in its mouth. Or coaxed a frillbloom into stroking them off. They’ve certainly never laid out on the ground and let mandrakes throw puffapod seedpods at them while they wanked. The impact of the seedpods, the snickering of the mandrakes, the fragrance of blooming flowers, all while envisioning Severus walking in on him - Neville gets off faster and harder than ever that night.

“Erm. Thank you,” Neville calls to the mandrakes, which are once more hidden in their soil. One last seedpod sails through the air and smacks him in the head. Neville’s face scrunches up as the black blossom falls into his lap.

“This is really, really pathetic,” Neville tells himself. “Really fucked up, Neville.” The flitterbloom gives him a flirty wave and he groans.

The next day, his young charges gossip and flirt, and sneaky teenage mandrakes toss seedpods across the greenhouse. Neville turns red and stammers through his lesson and realizes - no, this isn’t much better. They’re still innocent and blessedly blind to their professor’s depravity.

* * *

Time passes by in a haze. Classes by day, and orgasms by night. On Saturdays Severus visits, and he stays longer and longer as they work on domesticating the Venomous Tentacula. Neville is surprised by how much contribution he has been able to give this project, when Severus had been so far ahead of him with the others. Perhaps because the tentacula is a much more particular plant, one that requires more of Neville’s expertise than simpler flora.

More and more often Severus leaves looking grudgingly impressed.

More and more often Neville slips into Greenhouse 7 to torment and pleasure himself in equal measure, with thoughts of how Severus would belittle him if he knew.

“This one is especially… _friendly_ , of late,” Severus comments.

Neville turns and gapes at the flitterbloom, which has one tentacle wrapped lovingly around Severus’s wrist. The tip strokes down his long fingers provocatively. Neville swallows hard. His cock twitches with interest. This particular plant has taken to Neville’s coaxing the best, and has either decided to seduce other lovers, or feels familiar with Severus because of how many times Neville has cried out his name.

Both thoughts are horrifying.

“Uh, yes, well. Y-you know, t-t-talking to them h-h-“

“Get to the point,” Severus snaps.

That certainly doesn’t dampen his growing arousal, but Neville manages to push the words out, “H-helps to s-socialize with them. All pl-plants benefit from s-social interaction.” Probably not sexual interaction specifically, but Neville likes to think he isn’t the only one getting something out of it. Even the mandrakes seem to be in higher spirits.

“Is that so?” Severus replies doubtfully.

* * *

Despite the ongoing torrent of self-loathing, life is good. Neville likes his job. Severus is his friend. He and Harry are becoming closer. Even Draco isn’t half bad. Neville entertains silly daydreams of Harry falling in love with Draco, and all four of them having double dates while chaperoning students in Hogsmeade.

It’s silly, and Neville knows it’s silly. It’s silly, but it makes him happy. Harry and Draco get on well enough, and if Neville ever musters up his courage with Severus…they’re only fantasies, really. Silly fantasies in which Severus kisses him back and holds his hand and calls him names.

And Neville realizes just how silly they are after Easter holidays.

He is heading to his rooms from the greenhouses when he encounters three female students (two Ravenclaws and a Gryffindor), giggling and red-faced, walking with their arms looped together. Neville stops them to remind them it’s past curfew. They exchange glances and giggles. It is the Gryffindor, Valarie Voss, who looks him in the eye and explains that Professor Snape caught them in the Astronomy Tower, deducted an astronomical number of house points, and assigned detention for all three of them. Neville sends them off to bed with gentle admonishment. 

It would be smart to escort them personally, but he really should check with Severus to see if their stories match up. If they lied, he will have to punish them for being out after curfew _and_ for lying to a professor. Besides, it’s a perfectly valid excuse to see Severus.

First, he heads for the Astronomy Tower, in case Severus is still there, or just leaving. Neville wonders what the girls were doing in the Astronomy Tower after curfew. It’s a popular spot for lovers, but three giggling girls? Neville feels his face pinken and he glances over his shoulder, though the girls are long gone. Neville’s never caught students having a threesome before. No wonder the punishment was so hefty.

Neville half hopes Severus is already in the dungeons. If he pays him a visit they might share a drink, get to talking, one thing will lead to another…But if Severus is still in the tower - well, there’s a reason it’s a lover’s destination. Making love beneath the stars…Neville shivers. He entertains romantic notions of flowers and stars and Severus as he climbs the stairs. Still caught in his silliness, he grins when he catches sight of a black-clad body. He is mildly disappointed to also see a second body, red-robed and wild-haired. Just as Neville opens his mouth to greet them, the sound of a groan stops him.

At first, Neville thinks they’re fighting. The way Severus has Harry pressed against the wall. The way their hands tear at each other. Knowing their history as he does, Neville could be forgiven the confusion. It becomes clear soon enough that the urgent hands are not hurting or pushing, but grasping and pawing. That if Severus’s teeth sink into Harry’s jaw and neck, it is not to damage, but to make Harry tremble and moan.

“Not here,” Severus says. He takes the hand grasping the front of his robes and pins it to the stone wall. Harry grins mischievously, but before his free hand can make any progress, Severus snatches it and pins it, as well. Neville steps leftward, deeper into the shadows, with a better view how they breathe each other’s air. Of the way Harry licks his lips and the way Severus's gaze drops to the motion. 

“Why not? This is the place to be, right?” Harry whispers. Lips parted, he leans forward, but Severus turns his face away. This does not deter Harry, who kisses from cheek to jaw to ear. Neville watches hands tighten around wrists, listens to Harry’s gasp of pleasure - Neville feels his trousers tighten despite the hollowness in his gut. Legs hook around waist. A leg pressed between thighs. Hips rutting forward. Arms jerking in their hold. Severus is still, so very still, and Neville wishes he could see his face. At least he can see Harry’s. Sees it flushed and twisted with pleasure as he moves against Severus.

“Please. Please,” Harry whispers.

“Quiet,” Severus rasps.

Neville bites his lip. Rubs a hand between his legs without thinking.

This is wrong, of course. Wrong of them to be so intimate in such a public setting. Wrong of Neville to stand here and watch. He doesn’t want to watch, really, but he can’t look away. Can’t look away from Harry’s wanton twisting. Or the way he whispers, “please” again and the way Severus surrenders, presses his mouth desperately to Harry’s. Presses his body flush against Harry’s. Tongue plunging into mouth as Harry cries out; his body shudders through its release while he rides Severus's thigh. 

“Wanna suck your cock. Really wanna suck your cock,” Harry gasps. “Let me.”

Severus frees Harry’s wrists. Presses his hands on the wall instead as Harry drops clumsily to his knees. Neville moves again, hoping for a better look as Harry parts Severus’s robes. Only a glimpse of his cock - hard and thick, making Neville’s mouth water - before Harry sucks him into his mouth. No teasing, no finesse, only hunger as he swallows him down. Chokes on it. Neville presses a trembling hand to his mouth, the other against his cock, and he swallows back a moan as he imagines himself in Harry’s place. Neville on his knees, lips stretched wide around Severus’s cock. Neville gagging because he took too much. Neville’s tongue and hands wringing pleasure from the potions master, not Harry.

Neville, not Harry, drawing the rough, “Fuck,” from thin lips and Neville’s blond hair, not Harry’s black, Severus grasps with one hand as he spills himself. Neville swallows his spit and imagines himself swallowing Severus’s come, and he bites hard into his knuckles to muffle a groan as as he comes.

The hardest part is after. Watching Severus lowering himself before Harry, grasping Harry’s face in both hands to kiss him, tongue searching the taste of himself. There is a splinter in Neville’s heart and it pushes ever deeper at the sight of this. Their post-coital clinging is more than he can bear.

With wet pants and wet cheeks, Neville chokes back a sob and flees, hoping they don't hear him stumbling down the staircase.

* * *

When Neville makes it back to his quarters, he crawls into bed. The shame is as strong as ever, but the hurt is new. And the envy. And the silent mantra of _stupid, stupid, stupid_. Neville stares at the black dahlias at his bedside and tears fill his eyes until they are nothing but blurred color. Neville reaches out for them. Pulls them from the vase. Holds them to his chest as he cries.

* * *

Neville tries not to be obvious when he watches them in the following days. He watches them at the weekly staff meeting. Watches them glare and snipe. Wonders if its just sex. If it might be more. If their animosity is foreplay, or an act to hide the truth.

Neville tries to be normal. Tries to be friendly with Harry. He goes out for Friday night drinks, though he doesn’t feel up to it. Harry and Draco try to engage him in conversation. Draco bumps his arm in a friendly way and eventually leaves him be even as Harry frowns in concern and asks if he's alright. He’s a good bloke, Harry is. It’s hard to hate someone so good. Mostly Neville’s tired and sad. “Fine,” he lies.

Even Severus notices something is off Saturday morning. Neville is quieter than normal, he knows he is, but he can’t quite bring himself to say a word. Severus watches him out of the corner of his eye. Neville can’t look at him. The tentacula lashes out at Severus, who ducks away just in time, but it allows Neville to gingerly hold one of its vines. It jerks away if he does much more, but Severus calls this an improvement. At least it's not outright attacking Neville, even when Neville does something it doesn't like. 

“Now, if you’re quite done sulking,” he says. His tone is not necessarily kind, but there is an underlying emotion that might be worry. They really are friends, Neville thinks sadly. It’s all they’ll ever be. “We shall enjoy a celebratory drink.”

Neville doesn’t want to be alone with Severus. Spending time with him only hurts these days, but Neville also cannot refuse him. Cannot help the injured butterflies in his belly as they make a valiant attempt at fluttering. "Sure. Sounds great."

* * *

The memory of Harry and Severus plagues him, as do his new dreams. 

He dreams of two Severuses, one to fuck Neville and one to fuck Harry. He dreams of a Severus with two cocks, and Harry and Neville kneel side by side to suck them. He dreams of kissing and frotting with Harry as Severus fucks one and then the other.

In his fantasies, he likes to prod at the gaping wound of his heart. In fantasies he watches from afar as Harry and Severus take their pleasure in one another. They know he is there and they put on a show for him - out of kindness at times, out of mockery at others. Sometimes he fantasizes about Severus kissing and teasing him to hardness, then abandoning him to take Harry instead.

Shameful pervert that he is, Neville uses his friends as wank material, and uses his plants as glorified sex toys. It is disgusting, because his plants are so alive to him. It feels like he’s using them. Grooming them for his pleasure. Of course, this is the reason Neville returns to them time and again. His plants are all he has. No one else wants Neville. He is no one’s first choice of friend or hero or lover. To his plants, he matters. 

And, well…Neville already knew he was pathetic, alright?

* * *

Near the end of term, Neville moves the tentacula to Greenhouse 7. Just that morning Severus called their project a success, but put off plans for further studies. “The mandrakes can wait.”

Perhaps Severus knows now. Neville has never been an accomplished liar. Has always worn his heart on his sleeve. What a fool Severus must take him for. No wonder he's cutting ties. Does Harry know? Merlin, how embarrassing. The whole staff probably knows how he's been mooning over the man.

Neville makes a nice space for the Venomous Tentacula, who he privately refers to as Severus II. In honor of the man, of course, and the more Neville thinks of it, the more the tentacula reminds him of its namesake.Prickly. Finicky. Deadly. Only Severus II likes Neville much better than Severus I does. Neville sits on the table beside its pot and tosses dead chirzpurfles into its mouth. The tentacula chomps noisily and hums with pleasure. One of its vines wraps loosely around Neville’s ankle.

“You’d probably call me a brainless buffoon if you could talk,” Neville says fondly. He nearly pops a chirzpurfle into his own mouth and squawks when he realizes. He reflexively tosses it away from him, but the tentacula catches it with a vine and feeds itself. Neville giggles. “Sorry.”

From outside there is a shriek, followed by laughter. Neville jumps, then turns to look out the window. 

Beneath the light of the full moon, Harry and Severus walk. Severus looks inordinately pleased with himself. Harry has a basket tucked under one arm while he feebly slaps at Severus’s shoulder with the other. He’s laughing even as he fusses at him for being “a right arse!” Neville’s shoulders slump when he sees them looking so cozy. Severus snatches the slapping hand to link his fingers through Harry’s. Harry’s laughter tapers off and his smile is soft when he looks up at his lover.

“Oh no. They are in love,” Neville whispers. A vine pats his shoulder. He presses his face further against the window to watch as they head, not for the castle, but for Greenhouse 4. “No.”

It is one thing for Severus to be with Harry. Neville doesn’t have any claim to Severus. Severus is free to date and fuck as he pleases. But bringing Harry to the greenhouses? This is Neville’s territory. These are Severus and Neville’s projects and Harry has no right to them.

Neville slides off of the table, but the vines trip him. Neville shouts as he falls face first to the floor. More vines wrap around his limbs, tugging at him like a marionette. “Sev, stop it!” Neville hisses. “Let me go, I have to -“ The tentacula garbles moodily at him and tugs him closer. Vines around his shoulders, another patting the top of his head. “Please, Sev, please let me go. I’ll come back!” The tentacula growls and squeezes, causing Neville to wheeze, but after a moment it lets him go.

“Thanks!” Neville says and stumbles out of Greenhouse 7 and heads for Greenhouse 4. _No, no, no,_ Neville thinks, dread deep in his gut and anger rising like steam into his throat. He could bring Harry anywhere else, but not here! This is one thing Harry can't have. 

Neville slows as he nears the greenhouse and breathes through his nose. He cannot lose his temper; it would reveal too much. Besides, they are his friends, even if he wants to hex them both silly. Neville rubs his sweaty palms down the sides of his brown robes and pokes his head in.

The basket Harry carried sits on the nearest table. Bits of greenery peak over the side. Plenty of ingredients are best gathered beneath the full moon, Neville knows, and many are available in the forest. Some are available in this very greenhouse. The anger is hot in his throat and Neville has to swallow and blink away tears.

Harry sits on one of the tables, lightly swinging his legs. He wears a small smile as he watches Severus, though his mouth twists as though trying to fight the smile away and he can't quite win. Severus’s back is to them both as he works at a familiar bush. Neville's heart sinks. He moves away, just peeking around the doorframe, heart thudding loudly in his chest. Neville should not be able to spy on them so easily, but when Severus turns he only has eyes for Harry, and his lips quirk ever so slightly at the sight of Harry’s smile. Severus carries a wooden bowl over to Harry and plucks up the a small, opalescent berry.

“Moonberry,” Severus says.

“Are you going to lecture me?” Harry asks.

“Yes,” Severus says. He rolls the berry across Harry’s mouth, but pulls it away when Harry parts his lips. “Moonberry. They shrivel beneath sunlight, and plumpen at nightfall. They are only ripe around the full moon.” He rolls the berry across Harry’s lips again and removes it again when Harry’s tongue curls around it. “They are especially difficult to grow. Very particular, moonberry bushes. They require a steady diet of fairy dust, and are best fertilized with unicorn excrement.”

“It should not be so sexy to hear you talk about shit,” Harry says. He winds his legs around Severus’s waist to tug him closer.

“As I was saying,” Severus continues. “They are considered an aphrodisiac, in some cultures. Part of this is the rather romantic notion of moonlit walks to pick berries and flowers. Lovers decorate one another with night-blooming flowers, or else lay among them as they partake of the moonberries.”

“That’s what the flowers are for?"

“Moonflowers and evening primrose. Some are for my stores, but I do intend to... _adorn_ you with them, yes."

“And what’s the 'other' part?” Harry prompts.

“The other part is that their growth benefits from the application of male ejaculate to the soil."

There is a beat of silence, then a bark of laughter. “You’re joking.”

“It is supposition, I admit.”

“Hmm. Should we test that theory, do you think?”

“Why?” Severus’s free hand moves to part Harry’s robes. “Are you about to come?”

“Listening to you talk? Probably. Though I’d rather you did more than just talk to me."

Neville does not stay to watch. The idea of them fucking bothers him less than the idea of Severus feeding Harry the moonberry. Neville assumes he will, after the production he just made. Using Neville’s moonberries to seduce his lover. He can’t even bear to return to Severus II. Instead he trudges up to the castle, scrubbing his wet face with a dirty sleeve.

* * *

Neville should have pride, or at least self-preservation, but he carries on as normal. Pretends it doesn’t hurt to be around either of them. Maybe he enjoys the ache of it. Maybe he values them both too much to pull away.

* * *

“Severus I came by today,” Neville tells Severus II. It is near the end of summer and he is curled up by the tentacula with a lap full of black roses. The tentacula is waving one flower around, so he hands it another. Neville laughs when the plant tries to tuck it into his hair. Neville gently guides the vine to tuck the stem over his ear.

“Thank you,” Neville says. “He doesn’t stop by every Saturday, but we had tea today. It was nice. He’s using your leaves in a new potion he’s making.”

The tentacula hisses and waves its rose threateningly in the air. “It’s alright,” Neville laughs. “It’s for me, actually. Well, for us. Him and me, I mean.” Neville smiles awkwardly and hands the tentacula another rose. “He says potions-aided plants are useless in potions, so I didn’t think he would, but he also says not all plants need to be useful in potions. They can be useful for other things. Can you believe it?” The tentacula huffs. “Since you worked out so well, he wants to see if we can make defense mandrakes. Personally I think he wants to poison them, but we’ll see. We might have a whole army of mandrakes, wouldn’t that be…I was going to say ‘cool’, but really that just sounds terrifying. He’s sort of a mad genius, you know? It’s…well, terrifying, but also sexy.”

Neville hands the tentacula another rose. “The students say he’s ugly. And I remember thinking so when I was young. Only, I’m different now and I…I dunno. He just does it for me, I guess. Does it for Harry, too. Did I tell you I saw them shagging in Greenhouse 2 the other day? They’re worse than the seventh years, I tell you. They didn’t see me, though. Wanted a good show myself, didn’t I?”

The roses tumble out of Neville’s lap when vines wrap around his waist and pull him across the table, nearer the tentacula. Neville yelps as the vines ineffectually prod at his buttons. He flushes scarlet, but it’s silly. The tentacula is only being friendly. It’s not like the flitterbloom, slut that it is - (oh, that’s rude, it’s not a slut, it’s just...well, friendly.)

“It’s really wrong, I know. I shouldn’t watch them without their permission. But they shouldn’t be shagging where anyone can walk in, should they?” Neville squirms, recalls the sight of Severus’s pale arse as it thrust forward, pushing his lovely cock into Harry - the long, pale fingers gripping Harry’s hips - the veil of greasy hair hiding his face - the low growl that emerged from his throat - and it’s inappropriate to be so hard. And very inappropriate for the tentacula’s vines to rub between his legs. Neville moans. Lets his head fall back as his legs fall open. Stares up at the ceiling as though searching for answers. Any answer that isn't the tentacula rubbing his cock. 

While Neville has used many of his plants for self-pleasure, he has never approached the tentacula that way. Maybe it reminds him too much of Severus to imagine it ever wanting him like that. Not that the other plants do, of course. They’re plants, they don’t have sex drives. Do they?

But, well - if Neville can't have the real Severus, why not indulge in this Severus? Somehow this feels worse than the others, as if he's violating the real Severus by violating the plant Severus. It's the way he felt Severus's eyes watching him through the moly, that he has attached some piece of his friend to this plant they tended together. This does not stop Neville from unbuttoning his robes with trembling hands. "Okay. Okay, let's do this, Sev."

The vines free Neville as he drops to the floor to shrug out of his robes. Boots and socks are next, followed by shirt and trousers. Neville tugs at the band of his pants nervously before shucking them off. He's always a bit shy with new lovers - no, not lovers, just - shy with new experiences. New toys. That’s all this is. Plants cannot be lovers anymore than dildos can. (Right? Or had he lost his virginity to the flitterbloom? Best not think of that now…)

Easy not to question when the tentacula reaches out for him again. Neville had not considered how much protection his robes offered against the sharp edges of leaves and the suckers on their undersides; against the prick of hidden thorns. Neville swallows when he thinks of the fanged mouth at the base. A lot could very easily go wrong with a venomous tentacula. Cuts or strangulation, the poison in their shoots and the venom in their mouths. He could die.

Neville has to trust Severus I’s judgment, and Severus II’s devotion to him.

Vines wrap carefully around his arms to draw him nearer. Vines in his hair, trailing down his spine and his chest and his thighs. Neville trembles. The bumpy underside of leaves smooth over his arse. The sharp edge of one catches a nipple, causing Neville to hiss. The tentacula makes a soothing sound. More leaves trace his hard cock.

The vines don’t grip him as tightly as the flitterbloom does. Neville isn’t sure if it’s because it can’t, or because it won’t. The tentacula is so careful with him, which Neville appreciates, though every touch is more teasing than pleasing. Maybe it would be better if it bruised him and cut him if only to relieve the ache in his prick. Neville didn't mind a bit of roughness, at least not in theory, but he is too embarrassed to ask Severus - to ask the tentacula - for more. 

It could be Severus’s palm tracing the shape of his cock. Severus’s fingertips gliding over his skin. Severus treating him so gently, belying the dangerous promise in his dark eyes and the cruel curve of his mouth. Severus whispers to him, how easy it would be to hurt him - slice him with a knife, or a few drops of poison - and Neville whimpers, “Severus.”

The vines tighten possessively around him. Pricks of leaves and thorns. Suckers latch onto his thighs, his stomach. Neville’s cock throbs even as he grimaces. Two leafless, thornless vines press against his lips - Severus pressing his fingers into Neville’s mouth. Neville sucks them in eagerly - sucks them in too far. Neville coughs. The vines retreat a few inches - they stroke his tongue while other vines pet his head apologetically. The suckers tug away from his skin. A pained noise escapes him, followed by a pleasured moan as his bollocks are lifted and rolled. 

“You put your life and your dignity, in my hands, _Neville_ ,” Fantasy Severus purrs. “How does that feel?”

“Feels good, Severus, feels good, please,” Neville whispers as the vines fall from his mouth. They wind around to his arse, slip into the crease - Severus’s spit slick fingers pressing inside of him. Neville shifts his feet further apart as the vines - the digits - probe inside of him. He sways forward and Severus’s arms - the vines - catch him and hold him steady. Two more leafless vines - fingers - push into his mouth and Neville sloppily sucks on them as Fantasy Severus coos about what a slut he is.

“Shameful degenerate,” Fantasy Severus says. “Filthy pervert. Lacking in all self-worth and respect. Throwing your useless hole at anyone - any _thing_ \- that will have it.”

“Yes, please, have it,” Neville whispers. Vines - arms - urge him closer and his cock is being sucked into - “Oh Sweet Merlin.” The fantasy halts as Neville looks down. His prick is _inside the tentacula!_ In it’s mouth. It’s saliva is thick and wet - Neville tries not to think of sap or venom (surely it would have to bite him first?) And there’s something - a tongue? - flicking at the head of his cock. “Has fangs. Strong jaw. Venom,” Neville recites. He stares blankly down. Feels numb. Before he can gather his wits, two more vines join the first two, stretching him open just as the tongue wraps around his prick. “ _Flexible tongue, tell Severus, add to notes_.”

It’s difficult to bring back the image of Severus when Severus II’s tongue is winding all around his shaft and tugging on it. Human tongues cannot do that. Still, he manages - sees Severus on his knees before him, fingers delving into him from behind, merciless mouth sucking him in deeper and deeper. Suckers - lips - around his nipples. Tickling pressure. Scrape of thorns - nails - down his ribs. Bright pain and warm, wet pleasure. And it’s so good, _so good, so good, so good, so good_ \- “Severus, Severus, I’m -“

“This has got to be the most disturbing thing I’ve seen in my life. And I used to live with the Dark Lord.”

Neville squeaks. His limbs reflexively jerk, but the tentacula holds him firm. He feels the barest hint of fang drag against his foreskin and his own teeth dig into his lower lip.

“No wonder you spend so much time in the greenhouses, Longbottom,” says Draco gleefully. Neville can’t get a good look at Draco over his shoulder, only a hint of his pale blond hair and the pink twist of his smirk. “Why bother with human company when you can consort with cock-sucking shrubs?”

This is everything Neville craved and feared. His neck and face are hot. Panic sets in, but he can’t move and the suction on his cock and the fullness in his arse are so good and so distracting, he cannot respond to Draco but to moan. Loudly.

“Does Severus know you’ve been having off with his ingredients? Tsk tsk. He’ll be horrified, you know. He may be kinky, but I don’t think even he would sink to this level.”

Neville sees it so clearly. Imagines Severus stepping up beside Draco. Imagines the disgusted sneer, the scornful eyes dropping to where Neville’s cock is, then back up to meet his gaze.

“Merlin, f-fuck!” Neville squeals as he comes. The tentacula makes an obscene slurping noise, and it certainly feels obscene, the way that tongue unwinds from his spent prick. Vines steady him as Neville sags. The suckers pull away from his nipples and he cries out in pain as the vines push him to lean against the table. His kneels wobble. His heart thuds and the warm laxity of his orgasm is weighed down by the sick lurch of horror and humiliation. His head spins, tries to make sense of where he is and what is happening. _Orgasm good, Draco saw, Draco knows, oh god, ow I hurt, wow that was good_. 

“Unless, of course, this is what you’ve been working on,” Draco comments. “Is that what you and Severus have been up to? Breeding sex plants? A whole line of whore-a-flora.” Draco snickers at his own bad joke.

“Sh-sh-shut up!” Neville tugs away from the tentacula and fumbles on the floor for his robes. His hands are shaking and his vision is blurred with tears. “Wh-wh-what do you w-w-want?”

A pause. Neville can’t bring himself to look at him, so he focuses on cleaning up. The robe is enough coverage for now so he folds the rest of his clothes and sets them neatly on the table. He is gathering up the trampled roses when Draco speaks. “I was looking for Severus, actually, but now I’m curious as to why that thing didn’t bite your prick off.”

“Wh-why would you think S-severus was here?” Neville asks.

Draco scoffs. “The two of you are friends, aren’t you? I’ve seen him around the greenhouses plenty.”

Neville laughs and wipes his wet face. “At n-night? Might wanna check with H-Harry, then.”

Neville really shouldn’t have said anything, and he knows it. He’s not sure why he said it. His thoughts and emotions are so scattered. He doesn't know if it was intentional, if he wants revenge. Or if it was a simple mistake, one he should feel guilty for. He doesn't know anything. He only knows that Draco is here and he saw and the tentacula is humming with self-satisfaction that makes Neville blush all the hotter. 

“Harry?” Draco repeats.

“Mhm.”

“With Severus?”

“Mhm.” Neville fiddles with his clothes. He could probably busy himself elsewhere, but any movement will bring him closer to Draco. Neville doesn't risk even a glimpse of him, let alone nearness. He wills Draco to leave. To lose interest and just leave. Or maybe the ground will open up and swallow him whole. “They like Greenhouse t-two.”

The silence stretches on longer. Neville clutches his clothes to his chest and finally turns when he hears Draco move closer. There is malicious glee in his gray eyes, which Neville expected, but there is more there that is not. He doesn't know what it is, exactly, but it makes his heart flutter. 

“Are you telling me that Potter and Severus are fucking?” Draco asks.

Neville gulps.

“And you’ve been watching them?” Draco continues. Neville doesn’t even dare blink. He isn’t sure he’s even breathing. “And - what? Do you hide in a corner and have off with a mandrake while Severus has off with Potter?”

“N-n-no!” Neville might have, if he thought he could get away with it. Dangerous enough to watch as he does without wanking while doing so, let alone incorporating mandrakes or other plants into his pleasure.

“And you said his name,” Draco says. “Severus. You said it while this - _thing_ \- was sucking you off.”

“His name is Severus II,” Neville says defensively. He’s not sure if that makes it better or worse.

Draco barks out a laugh. Neville stands rigid, paralyzed by anger and misery and fear. The tentacula growls and shoves Draco with its vines. “Oh!” Neville exclaims and reaches out to catch him. Pulls Draco in to steady him. “Sev, be nice!” Draco’s laughter dissolves and his breath hitches. His body is flush against Neville’s, his arousal firm and unmistakable against Neville's leg. Draco’s face is flushed, and his tongue slides out across his pink lips. Neville’s cock give a feeble twitch in response.

“You realize you’re deeply disturbed, don’t you?” Draco asks.

“Y-yeah."

“Good. Now, tell me about your sex plants.”


End file.
